


A Summoning

by AnonymousDandelion



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ... of someone else's soul, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale to the Rescue (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is Summoned (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Evil Uncle, Footnotes, Gen, Holy Water, Humor, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Outsider (partial), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Rated T for a bit of swearing, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Summoning Circles, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), attempted soul-selling, better late than never, one of crowley's houseplants, though he's also scary and so is aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: Linette definitely didn't want to summon a demon, and Crowley definitely didn't want to be summoned. Nevertheless, that's what happened. Blame Linette's uncle, who is Not A Good Person.Other significant players include a potted fern, a bucket of holy water, and a concerned Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 328
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Good Omens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't resist trying my hand at a demon-summoning fic — I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a dismayed demon is summoned, a dismayed girl summons a demon, and an angel tries not to be dismayed by his demonic partner's delay in returning home.

Crowley hated demon-summoning spells.

The very fact of their existence (and, more to the point, their efficacy) was an insult, not to mention a major nuisance, to demonkind.[1] Plus, Crowley was usually the closest demon around when it came to Earth, which meant he’d been the victim of _way_ more than his share of nonspecific summonings. And the spells always seemed to snare him at the most awkward and inconvenient of moments; for example, in the middle of transplanting a frightened fern to a quiet corner of the park.

Also, being summoned _hurt_.[2]

Crowley bit back a yowl as he materialized in the center of the circle, flames[3] momentarily leaping around him and, so it felt, inside him as well. He was still holding the flowerpot, one hand buried in soil, the other gripping the terracotta rim. At least he’d been kneeling, so the landing wasn’t as bad as it might have been.

It had been quite some time since Crowley had last been summoned,[4] and the effect that the experience always had on his brain tended to resemble being mildly drunk, except with none of the more enjoyable side effects. Still, he’d been through the process on enough occasions that instincts kicked in while he was still getting over the whiplash. _No sudden movements. Figure out what’s going on. THINK._

Cautiously, keeping his facial expression neutral enough that he could just as easily turn it into a grin or a glower as needed, Crowley raised his head to look up from the potted fern. A swift assessment of his surroundings told him he was in some kind of garret, complete with dust and cobwebs[5] and spooky shadows cast by the tall candles arranged at intervals around the perimeter of the uncomfortably-small summoning circle. The room had no furnishings aside from a bucket.

The spell itself, now… Crowley peered at the glowing symbols chalked around the circle, attempted to miracle himself away just in case, and swore silently and with utter unsurprise when it didn’t work.[6] _Shit._ This was a competent casting of a five-star spell, smoothly incorporating conjuring, confinement, disempowerment, and a truth-binding to boot. Whoever had drawn this circle had to have done so with a professional-grade instruction manual, not to mention a good-sized spot of natural talent. Crowley might have been impressed by his abductor, if not for the fact that they’d just abducted _him_.

Speaking of his abductor…

The brown-haired girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, was standing in the corner of the room — as far from the circle as she could get — clutching a sheet of paper and staring at him. She looked at least as terrified as the fern, which meant she looked extremely terrified.

Crowley exhaled. His previous encounters with summoners ran the gamut, from Satanists to exorcists[7] to kids goofing off. Unusual that she was alone as opposed to with a group of friends, but still, this girl clearly had to be in more or less the third category. Child summoners were a mixed blessing[8] — preferable to adult summoners in some aspects, worse in others — but almost certainly more manageable.[9] All he needed to do was give her whatever it was she wanted (toys? Video games? Money? Friends would be trickier, but he’d work something out if necessary) and then persuade her to let him go. Piece of cake. He hoped.

He waited for the girl to say something, because the wisdom of “don’t speak until spoken to” had stood him in good stead in many a summoning situation. Safest to wait and get a better sense of exactly what was going on here. Besides, there was no need (yet) to freak the kid out more than she was already freaked out.

Moving slowly — couldn’t be too careful — Crowley moved to a more comfortable position, removing his right hand from the flowerpot and sitting back on his heels, resting both filthy hands in plain sight on his knees. His fingernails were packed with dirt,[10] which wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t exactly have a sink at hand, and miracles were off limits unless the summoner commanded him to clean his fingernails (it didn’t seem particularly likely, but hey, anything was possible).

Speaking of the summoner, she was still showing no signs of doing anything other than stand in the corner and stare from Crowley to the doorway and back again to Crowley. She didn’t make a break for the door, though whether that was a deliberate choice or a matter of fear paralysis overcoming fight-or-flight he couldn’t tell.[11]

Well, they couldn’t stay this way forever. So then, he’d have to be the one to speak first. Crowley sighed. Then he turned his facial expression into a smile, doing his best to look friendly and non-intimidating, and hoped he’d be able to talk himself out of this circle sooner rather than later. He didn’t dare stand up yet, and his legs were starting to cramp from all the kneeling.

“Hi,” Crowley said.

~ ~ ~

Linette had been really, really hoping the summoning spell would not work. So many so-called “spells” were just so much imaginative gibberish, why couldn’t this have been one of those? Did the most ill-advised piece of witchcraft she’d ever attempted _have_ to be one of the real ones?

Her plan was stupid. She knew it was stupid, and unspeakably dangerous into the bargain. It wasn’t even a plan, if she thought about it for more than a split second — just a desperate Hail Mary,[12] with no idea what she would do with it even in the unlikely event that the first step worked out. Throw herself on the mercy of a being that was bound to be the embodiment of nonmercy? “Please, Mx. Demon, would you do me a favor and…?” For that matter, how would she finish that sentence even if given the opportunity? It wasn’t as if Linette _wanted_ a favor from a demon.

Maybe she could ask it for advice? As if she would or should listen to advice from a demon. Maybe it could tell her how to convincingly cast a summoning spell without actually summoning another demon? Maybe it would appreciate the warning enough that it wouldn’t kill her — though demons probably weren’t capable of appreciation, come to think of it. Maybe it would kill her. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it did. Or maybe the holy water the summoning tutorial perfunctorily recommended having on hand would be enough to prevent the demon from killing her, if the holy water thing wasn’t all superstition, which it presumably was. Or maybe…

Maybe, maybe, maybe not. The point was, Linette’s mind was spinning out of control, she knew her plan was stupid, she knew that despite her best efforts she didn’t _have_ a plan, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

She didn’t even know what her uncle wanted with this spell, but it couldn’t be good, and after all, whatever she did on her own could hardly end up worse than knowingly giving Uncle Ralph access to a demon. She had to try _something_.

There had been a time when Linette had been excited to be a witch, when it had been interesting and even fun. That was when her grandmother had been teaching her, before the cancer, before everything went wrong, before she ended up with her uncle, who had no knack for the craft itself but had an obsession with finding spells and making her work them for him. Mostly little things, things that didn’t really do any harm in the long run, but she always got the impression he was working up to something bigger.

Come to think of it, this was definitely something bigger.

Truth told, she’d suspected the summoning spell was real from the minute her uncle thrust the manuscript under her nose. It was something about the style of the instructions — intricate yet unembellished, detailed without being fanciful. Fantasy spells tended to involve many more squiggles, more twirling, and a whole lot less coherency. That was why, the first time she’d tried the spell, she'd intentionally done it wrong, smudging symbols and a key line of the incantation to cancel the power.

Deliberately messing up magic was risky in and of itself, though,[13] and then when Uncle Ralph caught on and insisted she try again ( _“And it_ better _work this time, little witch”_ ), she hadn’t dared do more than stammer that she needed a day to recharge. This wasn’t true, but amazingly, he accepted it.

Then her uncle went out, she had her reckless non-plan idea, and she seized the opportunity. So here Linette was now, doing the most foolhardy thing she’d ever done and hopelessly hoping she was wrong about the spell’s authenticity.

She cast the summoning, paying even more than her usual scrupulous attention to detail (because one of the few things she could think of more dangerous than properly casting a demon-summoning would be _im_ properly casting a demon-summoning), drew the symbols, lit the candles, quadruple-checked the spacing, and finally began the concluding incantation. She could _feel_ the spell catching, could feel the air getting heavier, the power gathering and hovering. She grounded herself as much as possible, refrained from screaming (by that point in the working screaming would have been very, very foolish), and intoned the final words.

Briefly, reality twisted. The chalk symbols were on fire, individual candle flames leaping impossibly high and somehow merging in the center of the circle to intertwine in ways that were nothing like anything Linette had ever seen or even imagined. She was momentarily paralyzed by combined magic and terror. If she had been able to move, she might have fled, in spite of the certain knowledge that leaving an inferno and quite probably a demon alone in her uncle’s attic was a bad idea on every conceivable level (and probably some inconceivable levels as well). She would certainly have screamed, foolish or no.

Then the circle cleared, the chalk faded to a pale gleam, the flames returned to their proper places on the candle wicks, and Linette discovered herself to be backed up against the wall beside the bucket of water from the church, staring at a dark-haired man kneeling on the floor holding a potted plant.

She was still gaping when the man looked at her through a pair of dark glasses, smiled a trifle unsteadily, and said, “Hi.”

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale looked up from his book to glance at the clock on the wall and sigh. It was almost an hour now since Crowley had left with the fern he’d deemed a failure,[14] and Aziraphale would have expected the demon to be back by now; transplanting didn’t usually take this long.

Aziraphale wasn’t impatient,[15] and of course Crowley could go out whenever and wherever and for as long as he wanted. The angel fought off a vague, utterly illogical sense of misgiving. The demon could take care of himself. He was most likely just busy scaring parkgoers or feeding the ducks.[16] There was really no reason to worry.

The angel waited another five minutes, then decided to go for a walk to the park.

**Footnotes**

1 And while Crowley had no problem insulting demonkind in general, when it imposed on him personally that was just going too far.[return to text]

2 Part of the pain was an inevitable side effect of being grabbed by the essence and yanked through multiple planes of existence in a fraction of a second. Another part, Crowley very much suspected, was deliberately written into the spells. Not that it mattered much one way or another; the end result was the same.[return to text]

3 Not regular flames, nor hellfire; some other variety of flames that was far less comfortable than either the standard or the Hellish variety, at least where Crowley was concerned.[return to text]

4 On average (though with some prominent exceptions) humans seemed to have grown slightly less inclined over the centuries to do more than dabble in the occult. Also, Crowley had had the assistance of a skilled rare-book dealer in tracking down and (despite Aziraphale’s visceral anguish) destroying every text they knew of that even hinted at any functional summoning spell.[return to text]

5 The spiders responsible for the cobwebs, being sensible creatures, had skedaddled as soon as their spider-senses warned them that a demon-summoning was about to take place.[return to text]

6 He really hadn’t expected it to work, but he couldn’t exactly sit there in a summoning circle and not _try_.[return to text]

7 Exorcists were the _worst_ , not least because they usually had the most useless and outlandish ideas about how to actually go about exorcising a demon once they had him. It was really quite awkward for everyone involved, but especially for Crowley.[return to text]

8 Mixed curse? Whatever. Since it was mixed anyway, it didn’t really matter, and Crowley was too distracted to worry about his language.[return to text]

9 Emphasis on _almost_. Crowley had learned from experience that one should never underestimate children, especially children who succeeded in pulling off an effective demon-summoning.[return to text]

10 He shuddered to think what Aziraphale would have to say.[return to text]

11 It was both.[return to text]

12 Would Mary approve of demon-summoning? Almost definitely not, Linette suspected. But, well, she wasn’t about to hail Satan…[return to text]

13 If you smudged the wrong symbol, or skipped the wrong line, instead of canceling the magic you’d just find it coming back to bite you. Not advised.[return to text]

14 Aziraphale had already comforted the remaining plants, reassuring them in a conspiratorial whisper that their erstwhile companion was being taken to live a long and happy life in a beautiful place, but that they couldn’t let on to Crowley that they knew.  
Crowley strongly suspected that Aziraphale talked nicely to the plants when the demon’s back was turned, but he didn’t _know_ it for a fact, and Aziraphale had no intention of telling him until caught in the act. Which was bound to happen eventually, but hadn’t happened yet. As far as Aziraphale knew.[return to text]

15 At least, he wouldn’t admit to being impatient.[return to text]

16 Though the thought of Crowley feeding the ducks without Aziraphale did sting just a bit.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 should be posted later this week. In the meantime, if you feel like leaving any comments, I'd love to hear your thoughts so far. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley tries to figure out why he's been summoned, and Linette tries to figure out why the demon she summoned is holding a houseplant. Aziraphale, meanwhile, is at the park.

The girl startled at Crowley’s greeting, but rallied quickly enough to respond before the silence stretched too long. “... Hi.”

Then the silence stretched on anyway.

Crowley sighed again (though softly enough that the girl couldn’t hear him), and decided to get to the point. Casually, as if he were asking about the weather or something even more inconsequential, he said, “So, what’d you call me for?”

The girl had to have heard the question. And really, all things considered, her panic appeared to be remarkably well under control. Still, her eyes slipped away from Crowley’s, and she didn’t speak immediately.

Ah, well. Crowley checked on the fern, which by this point was probably traumatized beyond recall,[17] and tried to appear — and, more importantly and much more challengingly, to feel — calm and unconcerned as he waited for an answer. He just hoped Aziraphale wasn’t worrying.

~ ~ ~

Standing beside the Bentley, Aziraphale frowned and worried. The car was parked illegally[18] (of course), but that was not the reason for the frown or for the worry.[19]

The reason was that there was no sign of Crowley either by the Bentley or at the duck pond, nor were any of the humans in or around the park shrieking about a giant snake. Where _was_ the demon?

Unconvincingly telling himself he was just going for a stroll while waiting for Crowley and that he wasn’t worried in the least, Aziraphale wended his way through the park, senses peeled for any hint of demonic presence. He knew he was being silly and Crowley would laugh at him later, but…

 _Wait. What was that?_ Aziraphale froze, turned in a slow circle, backtracked a couple meters towards a clump of ferns, then stopped again.

~ ~ ~

“What’s _that_?” the girl blurted.

Crowley followed her gaze to the flowerpot at his knees. “It’s a plant.”

“Is it carnivorous?”

“... what? Nah, just a fern. A _highly disappointing_ fern, at that,” he added, remembering to glare at the pot’s occupant. “Useless.”

“Oh.” The girl’s brow was creased like she was trying to make sense of what was going on. She wasn’t the only one. Crowley waved to get her attention, regretted the motion when she jerked and looked briefly wild, and returned to his most pressing question. “Sooo. You summoned me, I’m here, good work. What’s the occasion?”

He got no more of a response than the first time he’d asked; her mind was apparently still on the fern. “Is it… poisonous?”

Had Crowley gotten summoned by some weird juvenile gardener? “Dunno,” he said, doubtfully. “Never tried eating it.”

“Invasive?”

“Uhh. Um, maybe?” [20]

Her face cleared. “Oh! It’s not yours, is it? Did you steal it?”

“What the—” Crowley wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, except that it was not in the right direction.[21]

At least the girl’s next question was slightly more on topic. “ _Are_ you a demon?”

Her voice was more warily confused than it was properly terrified, but Crowley let it pass. He raised an eyebrow. “Weeell” — he drew out the word — “eh, I’m a snake.”[22]

She squinted, and Crowley rolled his eyes, not that she could see through the glasses. “Look, you made a demon-summoning circle and I showed up in your circle. What do you _think_ I am?”

“I don’t know! Why would a demon have a houseplant that’s not even poisonous?” she shot back.

Crowley didn’t have an answer to that one,[23] and he did not appreciate the insinuation. “Oh, I’m a demon,” he assured her.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yess_ , I’m sure.” Crowley was getting increasingly annoyed. “Besides, this blessed circle of yours won’t let me lie.”

“But—”

“ _I’m a demon_.” Crowley gave her the benefit of a diabolical sneer. "Definitely a demon. _Ssssee_?”

That last was accompanied by a threatening hiss and the removal of his sunglasses. The gesture had more or less the intended effect: The girl stared, squeaked, tried to back further away from him, and ran into the wall instead. Unfortunately, she also had the presence of mind to pick up the bucket at her feet and brandish it towards him.

Crowley stiffened, feeling his stomach sink and the sneer fall off his face. _Shit_ , he thought again, _that was a mistake_. He could hear the sloshing, could smell the positive reek of holiness, and he felt more than faintly sick. Being stuck powerless in a circle a few feet away from a bucket full of holy water was a problem.

Too bad there was nothing he could do to fix the problem.

“I warn you!” the girl was saying wildly. Well, at least she believed he was a demon now. _You are an idiot_ , Crowley mentally informed himself. Scaring the kid for no reason, just to try to salvage some scraps of demonic dignity, long-lost cause that that was to begin with. _Bloody idiot._

“Hey now,” he began, hoping it wasn't too late to defuse the situation, “let’s not—”

The girl moved a step closer to the circle, and the bucket came closer too. Crowley scooted back, then yelped in pain as he scooted too far and the confinement spell slapped him back to the center of the circle. _Ouch._ _Another mistake._

“Stay away, don’t you try anything, I’ll—” The girl’s frantic gabbling cut off abruptly. In a rather different tone, she continued, “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” Crowley’s mind was on the water and trying not to panic about its proximity. The throbbing from his collision with the spell boundary didn’t help either, nor did the lingering mental sluggishness and disorientation from being summoned in the first place. "I'm _fine_ ,” he snapped, not as gently as he perhaps ought, but at least it was apparently true enough that the binding let him get away with the statement. “Your bloody spell bit me, is all.” _And also you're holding something in your hands that could kill me and I have no means of stopping you._

“Oh. I didn’t know it would do that.”

The girl’s look of alarm had switched to guilt now, and dammit, Crowley’s own mind was leaping all over the place and he wasn’t up to dealing with a second person having the same problem. He cleared his throat and put the glasses back on. “So, um, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let's start over. Hi, I'm Crowley. I’d shake your hand, but, well. Nice to meet you.”

The girl's eyebrows rose slightly. “Is it? Nice, I mean?”

“Um.” Crowley paused; the question had caught him off guard. “Not a fan of the circumstances, I admit, but in a nice and accurate sense, yeah, I'm meeting you.”

“What do you… never mind.” She rubbed her forehead, looking much like Crowley felt. “Nice to meet you too, though I don't love the circumstances myself.”

That was an odd thing for the cause of the circumstances to say, Crowley thought. He tried to work out what his next line should be. They were indoors, so he couldn't comment on the weather.[24] Despite having invented it back in Eden, he’d never been much for small talk.

~ ~ ~

“Um, name’s Crowley. Did I say that already?”

Linette nearly smiled, but caught herself just in time. “I’m L—” she broke off. “I shouldn't tell you my name, should I.”

“Might as well. Makes it easier to talk to each other if I don't have to think of you as The Girl.”

He had a point, but… “Won't you use it against me? My name, I mean.”

“Huh? No, why would I?”

“Because you're a _demon_ , right? You said you were. And I summoned you here. I can't imagine that makes you want to… be nice to me.” She tried not to let her voice falter on the last sentence. She didn’t think she was completely successful.

The man — the demon — _Crowley_ removed his glasses again, revealing those unnerving eyes, and Linette gulped, but all he did was tip his head and say, ”I’m not nice. If I wanted to do something to you, which I can't right now anyway, I wouldn't need your name to do it.[25] But look, The Girl, L-somebody, suit yourself. I don't want to hurt you, I don't plan to hurt you, I just want to go home. If you blew out the candles this moment, I’d leave.[26]”

Linette felt another twinge of guilt at the words “I just want to go home,” but she tried not to get distracted. “How do I know you're telling the truth?”

“For G— for S— for anybody's sake!” Crowley pointed around him. “Truth spell, remember? You’re the one who cast it.”

“But how do I know I did it right? I bet you’d say the same thing if it wasn’t working.” She didn’t actually think he was lying, but that was probably just naive. The fact was, yes, she'd cast the spell, and she'd followed the directions to the letter and then some, and she was confident she’d done everything according to the text… but that didn't mean she knew how it worked, or would be able to tell if something was wrong.[27]

“Because… oh, for the love of music.” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, and Linette fought off more guilt. He looked tired and stressed — really, he looked much like she felt — but, Linette reminded herself, that was demonic artifice.

“Well,” Crowley continued, as if thinking aloud, “I told you it’s working, and unfortunately for me it is, but you don’t believe me, because you think if it wasn’t working — which it is — I wouldn’t admit it anyway, and to be fair, you’re right about that. Looks like we’re stuck, The Girl. So don’t tell me your name, just get to the point and tell me what you want and… _could you please put that bucket down_?”

Linette recoiled at the sudden edge to his voice and glanced down at the bucket in her hands, realizing she’d lifted it higher and was clutching it in an effort to calm her nerves. “...Why?”

“Makes me nervous.”

Maybe the holy water wasn’t as baseless a superstition as she’d supposed. Binding or not, Crowley was obviously telling the truth about being nervous. To put it mildly. With the dark glasses off, she could see that his yellow eyes (which were still unnerving, but not so bad now she’d had time to get used to them) were fixed on the bucket, and when she barely adjusted its weight he jumped.

Wondering why she was deliberately lowering her only defense against a demon ( _but a demon with a houseplant_ ), she set the bucket down, and saw Crowley relax significantly.

Well then. She sighed. Crowley did the same. Then he spread his hands and looked at her, as if waiting for something.

Oh. She still hadn’t answered the question about why she’d summoned him. She knew she should, and it wasn’t fair to leave him sitting in this circle without knowing why. Only, how was she supposed to explain? What was she supposed to say? “I didn’t want to summon you.” Oops, that came out wrong.

“Excuse me?” Crowley looked and sounded disbelieving. Linette could hardly blame him. He waved an incredulous hand, taking in the glowing symbols and candles arranged around him. “You didn’t want to,” he said sarcastically. “So then, _why did you summon me_? You expect me to believe you did all this by _accident_?”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Linette really, really wished she’d figured out what she wanted before casting the spell. She’d hoped some brilliant idea would come to her once the time was right. If the time was right now, which Linette was pretty sure it was, no brilliant idea came to her. “It’s just, I—that is, my uncle—”

Speak of the devil.[28] The attic door swung open to admit Uncle Ralph. The first thing he did was glare at her; she flinched and dropped her gaze, feeling even more than the usual panic bubbling up. “Hi, Uncle Ralph,” she croaked.

“What is going on up here? What are you _doing,_ Linette?”

Even if she had had something to say, Linette’s mouth was too dry to formulate a response.

Her uncle surveyed the room, taking in the circle and the man — the _demon_ — trapped in its center. He studied the scene for a long moment, then turned back to Linette and smiled, and it was ridiculous that her uncle frightened her more than a literal demon. “I see. Well, well, little witch.”

Hardly daring to look at Crowley, wishing very much that the spell had not worked or that she’d had the guts or the brains not to cast it, Linette whispered, “I’m sorry. That’s why.”

**Footnotes**

17 It was true that the fern had had a rough day: first Crowley discovered a spotted leaf and it thought its time was up, then it was set in a hurtling monster belting Queen, then it was brought to a park, and then it was dragged to a demon-summoning circle. Having no other frame of reference, it assumed that this was what happened to all houseplants that disappointed Crowley.[return to text]

18 But if anyone had tried to tow it, they would have been in for a few nasty surprises.[return to text]

19 Not that an angel could condone unlawful conduct, of course — but, had he found the Bentley parked in a manner that was both lawful and respectful of other vehicles, Aziraphale would have been much more worried.[return to text]

20 Crowley was an expert at nurturing and terrorizing plants. That didn’t mean he knew much about them, botanically speaking.[return to text]

21 Incidentally, Crowley had come by this particular fern through perfectly law-abiding means. This was by no means the case for all of his houseplants.[return to text]

22 He’d been _going_ to say “No, I’m an aardvark,” but it seemed the truth-binding spell had no appreciation of sarcasm.[return to text]

23 “So I can bully them, and also because I like them” just didn’t have the right ring to it.[return to text]

24 Especially given that he had little to no idea where they even were, geographically speaking, aside from the fact that the girl’s accent did at least sound British.[return to text]

25 If Linette had known _his_ true name, on the other hand, she would have been able to do many things to Crowley, things much worse than merely summoning him. Fortunately, the name that was — for purposes of binding or exorcism — Crowley’s true demonic name was rather more dark, guttural, and evil-sounding than “Crowley” (or even than “Crawly,” the name’s English equivalent), and he had done a reasonably good job of keeping his personal sigil out of the grimoires.[return to text]

26 After removing the summoning spell from her memory, but he opted not to mention that. It wouldn't hurt her, anyway.[return to text]

27 That was why — well, one of the reasons why — Linette hated Uncle Ralph’s approach to witchcraft. Her grandmother had always said you had to understand things before you did them. Her uncle’s philosophy, in contrast, seemed to be that the less Linette understood the better (just as long as the spells worked and gave him what he wanted).[return to text]

28 Admittedly, that idiom would have worked better if she hadn’t been in a room with a genuine devil/demon.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for ending the chapter on this note — chapter 3 will be up in a few days. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Uncle Ralph tries to strike a bargain, and Crowley is outraged. Aziraphale is hot on the trail, but will he get there in time?
> 
> A relatively short chapter, albeit action-packed. The bucket of holy water gets involved, as do Crowley's sunglasses, the flowerpot, and Linette.

When the man entered the room and the girl whose name was apparently Linette all but physically shrank, a few things started to make more sense to Crowley. Some of the details were still less than clear, but he was fairly confident that he did not like this new, leering arrival one bit. Channeling the impression of a snake about to lunge, Crowley stood up, was relieved to find that his legs would support him, and leered right back.[29]

The man — _Uncle Ralph_ , Crowley deduced — broke the gaze almost immediately, swallowing visibly. To his credit (and to Crowley’s dismay), he didn’t also break and run. Instead, he took a nasal breath, straightened, and fixed his eyes just to the right of the demon’s head. “Greetings, beast of Hell,” Ralph said in what he must have thought was an impressive voice.

Crowley shifted in the circle, causing Ralph to jump and change his own position in order to avoid the demon’s eyes. “Ssssserpent, if you pleasssse,” Crowley hissed. “Not beassst. And I’m not really of Hell anymore, but whatever.”

Ralph looked irritated and extremely discomfited, but not nearly as scared as Crowley would have preferred. “Then greetings, uh, serpent,” he corrected himself. “I have summoned you—”

“No, you didn’t. She summoned me.” Crowley indicated Linette, who was now crouched near the bucket, staring between the other two in what appeared to be mingled fascination and horror.

“She summoned you on my command!” Ralph scowled at them both.[30]

Crowley rolled his eyes to show what he thought of _that_ — and, mainly, for the satisfaction of seeing Ralph’s face lose a bit more color — and wished Ralph would stop glaring at the kid. He also wished he could use his powers, wished the holy water was not in the room, wished Ralph would spontaneously combust, wished he could get out of the bloody circle, and wished Aziraphale was there. In no particular order.

~ ~ ~

Unless Aziraphale was very much mistaken, the strong sense of dissipating power in the air was unequivocally the residue of a summoning spell. He glanced downwards and saw, in the ground beside the ferns, a hole. Half in, half out of the hole rested a black-handled trowel, as if abandoned in the middle of usage.

Aziraphale reminded his heart to beat.

Well, where there was residue, there was bound to be a trail to follow. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d done this sort of thing, though the last time had been… quite some time ago. The angel turned his attention to a somewhat less physical plane of existence, and set to work tracing.

~ ~ ~

“What,” said Crowley, pouring demonic contempt into the words, “do you want.”

Apparently Ralph had wanted to get around to that subject, because he answered promptly. “Wealth and power, of course.”[31]

“Wealth and power?” Crowley didn’t have to fake the scorn in this sneer. “Wow, what a ssssspesscific and original requesst. And jusst what makesss you think I’d feel like giving you any of that?”

Ralph put his hands on his hips. He was annoyed, but clearly prepared for this moment — or at least, he thought he was prepared. “Because I have something you want.”

“And what would that be, ssssir?[32] I doubt you have _anything_ I would ever want — that I couldn’t already take,” Crowley added, figuring that last clause sounded appropriately sinister.

Ralph looked straight at the demon, not even avoiding the yellow eyes this time, and smiled as if he were Hastur about to consume a priest. “A soul.”

Oh, _please._ No one had tried to make a deal of this kind with Crowley in ages, and he didn’t miss soul-bargaining. All else aside, it simply wasn’t how these things _worked_. Crowley had no idea how that particular myth had ever gotten started, but you couldn’t sell your soul to Hell[33] any more than you could buy your way into Heaven.[34]

And besides… “I can ssseense your sssoul from here. I don’t need to give you anything, it’s already ours."

Ralph’s lips thinned, but to Crowley’s disappointment, the smug look remained. “I’m not offering you _my_ soul.”

The man pointed significantly towards Linette, and for a moment Crowley just stared blankly. Then the implication of the gesture hit him, and he stared again, momentarily unwilling to believe that even the most despicable of humans would actually—

“What. The. Fuck.” Maybe he was misunderstanding. “You’re trying to sssell me your niesssce’s sssssssoul?” If not for the lingering effects of the summoning spell, perhaps Crowley would have had the prudence to avoid losing his temper while trapped in a circle. Or perhaps not. In any case, before he had been intentionally hissing to add credibility to his big-scary-demon persona; now, it was happening of its own accord.

Ralph took a few probably-unconscious steps further from the circle, but the smugness wavered only a little. He shrugged. “Trust me, I know she’s a witch, but innocent a one as you can imagine. More. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Somehow, Ralph managed to make that sound like an insult. He must have taken the outraged-serpent look on Crowley’s face for greed or calculation, because the man smiled another sickening smile. “And all it’ll cost you is a little—”

“You total piesssse of—”

Crowley couldn’t think of a bad enough word, but the smile faded slowly from Ralph’s face. “Is that a no, then? You won’t even consider my offer?”

“Bloody right I won’t consssider it. I’ll—” Without thinking, Crowley took a step too close to the edge of the circle. The resulting jolt was worse standing than sitting.

Ralph’s expression shifted to something just as ugly, but significantly angrier. “If that’s your final word, then fine. Your loss.” He bent to pick up the bucket from the floor beside Linette.

Several things happened very quickly, while Crowley was still stumbling from the boundary’s repulsion.

Linette shouted, “It’ll hurt him!”; Ralph snarled, “That’s the point”; Ralph headed for the circle, bucket poised to douse it with holy water; Linette grabbed for the bucket, got it for a instant, there was a brief but fierce scuffle, then Ralph had the bucket again, but half its former contents were pooling on the sloping floor.

Ralph slipped in the water; Linette dashed for the circle and started blowing out candles; Ralph regained his footing and shoved Linette aside.

Crowley recovered enough for Ralph’s nose to meet a pair of well-aimed sunglasses, closely followed by a terracotta flowerpot to the gut; Ralph dropped the bucket; Linette blew out another candle.

The rest of the bucket’s contents joined the mess on the not-quite-flat floor and began to spread towards Crowley; he tried to move backwards, only to step into the circle boundary yet again.

Linette blew out the last candle and the chalk lost its light; Crowley hopped to a safe corner of the room, slanted uphill from the puddle.

And there was a rush of displaced air as Aziraphale materialized in the middle of the pool of holy water, armed with a trowel.

**Footnotes**

29 For the record, Crowley’s leer was much more nightmarish than Uncle Ralph's. Especially with the sunglasses off.[return to text]  


30 And did not mention that this specific summoning had, in point of fact, not actually been on his command.[return to text]

31 Ralph had been trying to gain wealth and power for many years. He’d originally tried using standard, legally valid methods, but those were hard work and the payoff wasn’t great; so then he’d tried illegal methods, which were much more successful in the short term, but difficult to keep up in the long run given the risk of getting caught; so finally, he’d decided occult methods were the way to go.[return to text]

32 Calling someone “sir” was really much more in Aziraphale’s line than it was in Crowley’s, but Crowley needed to say something with an s so he could fit a proper hiss into the sentence.[return to text]

33 Although a skilled demonic tempter _could_ most definitely exploit the _belief_ in a soul bargain, as a means to persuade the bargainer into other forms of corruption — thus, in the long run, gaining their soul for Hell after all. It had been centuries since the last time Crowley had tried that one, though.[return to text]

34 Plenty of people tried.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Diana Wynne Jones for inspiration when I couldn't decide what to name Linette's uncle — this Uncle Ralph is his own character, not Ralph Argent from the Chrestomanci series, but the name is not a coincidence.  
> (And yes, this note is mostly just an excuse to say: If you haven't read anything by DWJ, go do it. As Neil Gaiman put it, "Diana Wynne Jones is the best. The very best. Honest.")
> 
> ... But anyhow, stay tuned for chapter 4, coming soon. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an avenging rare book dealer handles things, an exhausted Crowley is protective and gentle (shh, don't tell anyone I told you!), and an extremely-overwhelmed Linette is, well, extremely overwhelmed.

“The man _what_? Her _uncle_? But that’s horrible! I’ll handle this, dear. You sit down.”

After temporarily freezing the other occupants of the room and getting rid of the holy water with a stern stare, Aziraphale had rushed to see if Crowley was okay. Evidently the demon was okay, or at least okay enough to dismiss the angel’s concern with a growled “Just boundary shock, water didn’t touch me, I’ll be _fine_ , angel” — and judging from the look on his face and the tone of his hiss, he was also furious.

Without knowing the context, Aziraphale was already furious too, a sentiment which only escalated once he’d received a hurried, somewhat garbled account of the situation. Even if he hadn’t been shocked by Crowley’s story of the attempted soul-selling, the very fact that the man had tried — and, to some extent, succeeded at — hurting _Crowley_ was already enough to inspire angelic wrath of a caliber that Aziraphale hadn’t felt in quite a while.

Gently but firmly, he pushed Crowley into a tartan armchair that was astonished to find itself in the attic. Crowley allowed himself to be pushed without protest, which told Aziraphale that the boundary shock must have been rather worse than the demon was letting on. That didn’t lighten the angel’s mood.

~ ~ ~

Crowley had not seen Aziraphale go into avenging angel mode in ages. He was too tired and achy to fully appreciate the scene now, but he watched from his seat as the angel unfroze the room.

Ralph continued whatever movement he’d been in the middle of, which turned out to be lunging at his niece. Linette dodged, but the effort on her part proved unnecessary; Aziraphale moved smoothly between them, and Ralph came to a baffled, involuntary halt inches away from colliding with the angel’s stomach.

Behind Aziraphale, Linette was also halted, and while Crowley knew the angel would be careful enough not to hurt her, it occurred to him that that was still probably not the best place for a human to be at the moment (although it was certainly preferable to being in front of Aziraphale). The angel, along with the trowel ( _Crowley’s_ trowel) in his hand, was already starting to glow.

Pitching his voice to carry, Crowley hissed, “Linette. Come over here.”

She jerked and turned to look at him. At first he didn’t think she was going to come; then she did after all, though slowly. She stopped on the way across the room, bent, picked up the sunglasses and fern from among the pieces of smashed terracotta and chunks of soil, then continued. She stopped a few feet away from Crowley and said nothing. He noticed that she was trembling violently and visibly, which wasn’t at all surprising; what was really surprising was that she wasn’t doing much more — or much less — than trembling. On the other hand, it would be a pity for her legs to give out on her now.

The absurd armchair was the only furniture in the room, and though he was out of the disempowerment spell, Crowley didn’t feel quite up to creating one out of raw firmament. Instead, he glared at the upside-down bucket that had formerly contained holy water and strongly suggested that it slide across the floor towards Linette and, while it was at it, make sure its bottom was sturdy enough to support a human’s weight.

Linette looked down at the bucket, looked at Crowley for a long moment, then just shook her head and sat down.

Beyond her seat, Aziraphale was bending to pick up a sheet of paper. Ah, the summoning instruction manual. The not-quite-natural light in the room intensified, and Crowley averted his gaze. Linette made as if to turn around, then instead glanced at Crowley. “Is he another demon?” Her voice was so very quiet and calm that it was clear there was nothing even remotely quiet or calm going on in her head. Crowley knew the feeling. He couldn’t help being impressed by her self-discipline; by this point he would have expected most humans to faint, go stark raving mad, be in complete denial, or all of the above.

He gave the shortest answer to her question. “Nope.” He paused, then added, “You should probably not look over there right now.”

Linette nodded, looking unsurprised, but also as if she was past being surprised at anything. Then… “What is he?”

Crowley was out of the circle. He was not bound to tell the truth. He hesitated, then decided to give her an honest answer anyway. “A rare book dealer.”

Apparently Linette wasn’t past surprise after all. She blinked at him, then glanced down at her lap, where her fingers were twisting around the stem of the fern. Crowley followed her gaze. The plant looked decidedly unwell, and for once he couldn’t blame it. He snapped his fingers and reached down from the armchair to pick up the newly-unbroken flowerpot from the floor.

And Linette wasn’t past surprising Crowley either; she sighed, stood up, and walked over to hand him the plant and glasses. He blinked back, then took both without comment, inserted the fern and carefully patted soil down around its roots, and breathed a touch of extra life into it just to be on the safe side. To make sure the plant didn’t get any ideas into its spores, he added in a menacing undertone, “This is a _one-time thing_ , you understand? Special circumstances. Won’t happen again. From here on out, you’re on your own.”

An augmented version of Aziraphale’s voice rang out with a confess-your-sins command as the angel turned his attention to the man rooted in place in the center of the room, having evidently finished with the sheet of paper. Crowley felt relatively certain he would not need to worry about anyone getting their hands on that particular manuscript ever again. He struggled with a new wave of weariness — tiny though they’d been, in his current state those miracles had taken more out of him than he’d anticipated — and put on the sunglasses (which had somehow survived the struggle, including their repurposing as a projectile weapon[35], unscathed). There, that was better. He closed his eyes and leaned back in Aziraphale’s armchair. Large and ugly and ridiculous and _tartan_ it might be, but he couldn’t deny that it was also warm, soft, and comfortable.

~ ~ ~

One part of Linette was screaming. Another was sobbing. Another had passed out on the floor a while ago. Another was trying very hard to persuade itself that she was dreaming, hallucinating, or both at once. Another part — the part that was currently in control of her body, which may or may not have been the same part that had decided on the spur of the moment to attack her uncle and undo her own summoning spell — was standing in her uncle’s attic staring down at a demon reclining on a tartan armchair cradling in his lap a flowerpot that she’d just seen in pieces.

Behind her was… a rare book dealer, apparently. The part of Linette that was standing staring at the demon was further subdivided into two parts. One part desperately wanted to look over her shoulder and see what was happening. Another part felt strongly that she should do nothing of the sort.

The first part won, barely, though the second part was probably right.

The… book dealer was glowing, in a way that managed to be both reassuring and absolutely terrifying. While the light didn’t precisely _hurt_ her eyes, it was somehow still close to blinding, yet she couldn’t make herself look away. And the longer Linette looked, the more she became convinced that she was not imagining the shapes of wings protruding from the back of the glowing figure, any more than she was imagining what seemed to be a trowel-shaped blaze of fire. She also got the impression that the book dealer was speaking, and it made her head ache, but she couldn’t quite follow the words.

Then she became aware of the person kneeling — she would have thought groveling, but that couldn’t be right — in front of the book dealer, and her stomach clenched. Perhaps she made a noise without realizing, because the sound of her name cut through Linette’s transfixture. A moment later hands were gripping her shoulders, turning her around, and she realized she needed to take a breath. She did so, squeezing her eyes shut to try to clear the imprint of light away, and reopened them to find herself now staring _up_ at the demon, who hurriedly let go and moved back. With the dark glasses, Linette couldn’t tell for sure where he was looking, but she rather thought it was at her. That suspicion was confirmed when one eyebrow rose above the glasses and he said, in a milder tone than she would have expected, “I told you not to look over there.”

She didn’t say anything.

After a few beats the demon sighed audibly, limped away, and collapsed backwards into the armchair. “Then again, I should know better than that. They told her not to eat the apple. Told _him_ not to save the world. Told _me_ not to talk to angels.”

He seemed to be talking to himself, so Linette didn’t try to understand the mutters. Anyway, she was too distracted by that sight of her uncle on the floor in front of the book dealer. _He’s a bad man_ , she reminded herself. Linette had no doubt that the one and only thing she should do right now was to stay quiet, sit down again on the bucket facing away from whatever was going on, and just wait.

Instead, she found herself saying, “Um. Excuse me, Mr.— er, Crowley.”

Crowley moved his head, acknowledging that he’d heard her. “Yeah?”

She pointed over her shoulder, not daring to turn around again. “Can— can you stop him?”

The demon’s forehead creased. “What?” Clearly, he knew what she was talking about, because he said, “I doubt he’ll kill him.”

If Crowley intended that as a comforting statement, it was not successful. Linette tried to figure out how to communicate that. Before she’d found a way, Crowley went on in a flat voice, “That… man” — she got the strong impression he had been going to use a different word, but changed his mind at the last moment — “wanted to sell your soul for his profit, you know.[36]”

Linette bit her lip. Yes, she’d heard that part, and although she hadn’t guessed it was coming, it also hadn’t really surprised her. It fit accurately enough with the Uncle Ralph she’d come to know. But…

She couldn’t find the words to say anything else, to get across _I know he’s a bad person, I know he probably deserves this, but still…_ but Crowley studied her for a moment, then called sharply, “Angel.”

Oh. That made more sense than book dealer. In some ways.

Suddenly dizzy, Linette fumbled for her bucket, found it, and sank back down, resting her head in her lap. She missed whatever happened next. When she tuned back into her surroundings, a cultured voice was saying, “... later. But are you quite certain you are all right, dear? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“It can wait. I just want to go home, Aziraphale.”

Linette recognized the latter voice, and the words, simultaneously plaintive and gruff, rang a bell as well. She lifted her head to see the source of the first voice — a stout, fair-haired man in an overcoat — leaning over the armchair to reply, “I know, dear, and we’ll get you home as soon as we can. We just have to wrap up here first.” He glanced in Linette’s direction, saw that she was looking up, and beamed. “Hello, young lady. How are you feeling?”

Linette had no idea how to answer that question, so she didn’t bother trying. She twisted, somewhat warily, to look around the room. There was no winged figure standing there, no unnatural, compelling, overpowering glow. Uncle Ralph was slumped against the far wall, like he was asleep or—

Linette swallowed.

“He’s just sleeping.” Linette spun around to see Crowley’s sunglasses angled towards her.

The other man — Aziraphale? — nodded as if in confirmation, then murmured something Linette couldn’t hear. Crowley answered in an undertone. Aziraphale’s next response was louder, though still clearly not addressed to Linette. “It’s not just that he summoned you, dear. Though of course I find that the most objectionable.”

More inaudible speech[37], then, “But as I said, that’s not all. We did the confession, and… he has other sins as well. A lot of them. Some of them quite dreadful. He doesn’t repent them, either.[38]”

“I believe you,” Crowley said drily. “At least he had sense enough not to try to bargain with his own soul.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Several of the sins are human crimes, too. I suppose we could simply call the human authorities and have them deal with him. That may be the best course of action.”

“Talk to her.” Crowley jabbed a finger towards Linette, who resisted the impulse to cringe.

Aziraphale frowned, seeming doubtful, then shrugged and raised his voice, apparently addressing Linette now. “Dear girl, that man is” — he cleared his throat — “not a good person.”

“I _know_ that.” Linette didn’t quite roll her eyes, but she would have if she had been any less overwhelmed by everything. She’d lived with her uncle for nearly two years, ever since the officials in charge of such matters determined he was the only surviving relative they could track down. If anyone knew that Uncle Ralph was not a particularly good person, it was Linette.

Aziraphale looked slightly nonplussed by her matter-of-fact response, but Linette went on, “I don’t think they’ll be able to prove anything, though.” Her uncle was very good at covering his tracks. That was part of the reason she’d never tried to report him for anything. On top of the fact that she hadn’t dared, and that she didn’t have anywhere to go if he _had_ been arrested.

Aziraphale waved the hand that wasn’t holding a vaguely trowel-shaped hunk of melted metal[39], as if the notion of needing evidence in court was totally irrelevant. “That won’t be a problem. The tribunal will have whatever proof they need. He _confessed his sins_.”

There was really nothing about this personage that should have seemed like anything other than a curly-haired, slightly rotund man, but some quality of his voice in those last words made Linette remember the glowing figure with wings. It occurred to her that this man looked like he could easily be a rare book dealer.

She took a breath, then another one.

“I think calling the police is a good idea,” she said, and it was true, and Linette was only shivering a little bit.

“Glad that’s settled,” Crowley said, and stretched. “The coppers are on the way.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sounded reprimanding. “You oughtn’t to have done that.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, can’t believe I just called the police. There’s a new one for the records, lucky thing they’re not keeping records on us anymore. _You_ should be thrilled, though.”

“That is _not_ what I meant.” Aziraphale drew himself up. “My dear, you need _rest_. You are in no condition to go working miracles right and left.”

“C’mon, angel, it was barely a miracle at all. They were only a few blocks away. Anyway, I refuse to have dealings with legitimate authority, so I’ll rest while you do that.”

Linette didn’t try to follow the exchange, just let it wash over her while she continued to breathe. At one point she heard sirens, Aziraphale left for a few minutes, and when he came back Linette was aware that her uncle was no longer in the attic. She continued to breathe while the talk resumed.

“... Did you tell them his niece was up here?”

Realizing the conversation had come around to her, Linette looked up again in time to see Aziraphale — _the angel_ , she thought experimentally, and continued to breathe — shaking his head. “I… wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.”

“Hah.” At some point Crowley — _the demon_ — had shifted position so he was half curled in the armchair. Aziraphale leaned over, and they had a brief discussion, too quiet for Linette to make out any specific words. When Aziraphale moved back, Crowley looked over at her. “Hey. Girl. Linette?”

She tilted her head, and breathed.

“You seem to be in something of a mess.”

Linette had been doing her best — and doing a solid job of it too, so far — not to think about that fact. She breathed.

“That may or may not be partly our fault, but, we’ll get it cleaned up somehow or other. Can’t do it now, though. The book dealer and I are going to his bookshop; gotta get _me_ cleaned up, among other things. If you want, you can come back with us. Just for now.”

Linette wondered if she had any choice in the matter. She was vaguely surprised to find herself voicing the question out loud.

The angelic book dealer appeared shocked. “Why, young lady, of course—”

Crowley cut in. “It’s your choice, Linette. If you prefer, we’ll call the police back. Or just leave you here and you can do what you want.” He hesitated. “Some things might be simpler if you come back with us, but. It’s up to you.”

If she had had any even the tiniest shred of a game plan, Linette might have opted to remain alone. Unfortunately, she had none.[40] And she definitely didn’t feel like talking to the police right now. Linette sighed. “I’ll come.”

The two men — or whatever they were — exchanged looks, then Aziraphale nodded briskly. “Very well. You may wish to close your eyes.”

Linette did not close her eyes, though she rather regretted that decision when Aziraphale snapped his fingers, something _wrenched_ , and she was suddenly and undeniably not in her uncle’s attic.

**Footnotes**

35 It was not the first time Crowley’s sunglasses had been used as a projectile weapon, and it would not be the last.[return to text]

36 And if the premise of the offer had been one that wouldn’t have worked even if Crowley had wanted to accept it, that didn’t make his opinions about the making of the offer any less colorful.[return to text]

37 Crowley commented, “He didn’t actually summon me, you know.”  
Aziraphale said, _“What?”  
_Crowley said, “Tell you later. Close enough, though. By all means blame him. It was definitely his fault.”  
Aziraphale took the demon’s word for it.[return to text]

38 Though he did regret having been forced to confess them. It was for the best that when he woke up he would have no clear memory of what had happened in the attic.[return to text]

39 Crowley had high-quality gardening equipment, but it just wasn’t built to withstand angelic wrath. Aziraphale miracled it back in shape later.[return to text]

40 Having no game plan was shaping up to be the theme of Linette’s day, and she didn’t particularly like it.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left, which I expect to post sometime this weekend! And shout out to everyone who's left kudos and/or comments — knowing someone is enjoying reading this makes my day. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Linette have a conversation, and Crowley and Aziraphale sit in an armchair.

Linette’s senses swirled bewilderingly for some little time, but eventually she regained enough control of her faculties to figure out that she was sitting, bucket and all, in a musty room containing floor-to-ceiling shelving, some furniture, and... piles of books.

Still in the tartan armchair with the potted fern, Crowley raised an eyebrow. “All right there?”

She closed her eyes, reopened them and confirmed that she was still in the book-lined room. In the absence of any other appropriate response, she shrugged, opting to disregard the odd and already-subsiding tingling in her ears, fingers, and toes. “I guess.” She looked around for the angel/book dealer.

Crowley gestured towards a doorway leading out of the room. “He’ll be back soon. Making tea.”

… okay. Linette accepted without question the idea that an angel was making tea. That made at least as much sense as anything else that had happened today.

Now that her initial sensory disorientation had settled down, however, Linette’s mind took up the task of swirling dizzyingly. In one part of her brain, about six thousand questions fought for priority, while another part made a convincing argument against asking anything at all.

The question that eventually made it past her lips was definitely not one she’d planned, and both parts of Linette’s brain united in castigating her for asking it. “What are you going to do to— to do?”

She bit off the end of the question, but she might have spared herself the effort, because the demon leaned slightly forward in the armchair and finished it for her, both eyebrows now up. “To you? What are we going to do to you? Is that what you mean?”

She didn’t answer, which she supposed was answer enough in itself.

Crowley sighed. “I’m wondering the same thing. You know—” He fiddled with the fern that was still on his lap. “You want the honest answer?”

How was she supposed to respond to _that_? Linette wondered briefly if she did want the honest answer, then came to the conclusion that she almost certainly didn’t, but that getting a dishonest answer would be even worse. “Yes. Please.”

“What we’d typically do would be send you on your way with a blessing — all Aziraphale, nothing to do with me, of course — and no recollection of ever having met us.”

If he was watching for a reaction, Linette gave it by staring, then clenching up in every part of her body, from eyes to fists to jaw to gut. When she unclenched sufficiently to speak, she said carefully, “You mean, wipe my memory?”

“Modify. Basically, yeah. It doesn’t hurt.”

She definitely should not have asked for the honest answer. “You’re going to wipe my memory.”

“Typically, that’s what we’d do.”

 _Typically_. Right. So, then…

“For one thing,” Crowley continued, “we can’t have you telling other people about us. There are various reasons for that, and some of them you can probably guess and others you definitely can’t, but the main point is that we need to know that word won’t get out. Memory modifications are the simplest, least harmful way to make sure of that. Same goes for the summoning spell. That paper is destroyed, but if, say, you remembered how to do the spell and you tried it again, or you wrote it down, or you told it to someone else… I’m sure you can imagine why that’d be inconvenient on my end.”

Not that she liked having the integrity of her memory threatened, but particularly after today’s experience, Linette could indeed understand why a demon might prefer an effective demon-summoning spell to stay out of public awareness. Although… “You don’t need to worry about the spell, I don’t think,” she said. “It was long and complicated and I didn’t _understand_ it, so I wouldn’t remember how to do it. Even I wanted to.”

Crowley held up a finger. “That’s useful in this case, but. _Never_ do magic you don’t understand. It can and usually will go very wrong.” His voice was sharp.

“I _know_ that!” Linette bridled at the unfairness. It wasn’t as if she’d _wanted_ to cast the summoning.

"Good. Don’t do it again.” Crowley sighed. “But even without that issue, the rest of it still applies. Just knowing that there _are_ summoning spells that work, and about us and the other stuff you’ve seen, all that, it’s still a risk for us. We’d need to be able to trust that you _would_ and that you _could_ keep a secret.” He paused. “How are you with secrets?”

In spite of the precariousness of her situation, Linette might have rolled her eyes this time, just slightly. “I’m a _witch_. In training, at least. I can keep a secret.”

The demon’s lips twitched. “You clearly haven’t met nearly as many witches as I have. But, fine. I’ll take it. The question becomes: Can we trust that you _would_ keep it secret?”

For all Linette could tell through the sunglasses, Crowley might have been looking up, down, or to either side, but somehow she got the impression that he was staring right at her — or possibly right _through_ her — very, very intently. It was an unsettling feeling.

The question itself, however, was easy to answer, for several reasons of which self-preservation was (surprisingly) only one. “Yes.”

The sense of being skewered lasted a minute longer, then Crowley gave a quick nod. Linette wondered if the interrogation was over, and if so, whether she’d failed.

Apparently it was not over, because Crowley leaned forward again, posture somehow managing to communicate even more intensity than before. “The memory thing, though. Secrecy aside, partly it’d be for _you_. The human brain — well, look, you’ve had a tough day. What I’m asking is, do you really want to remember it?”

Linette gave this question due consideration. It was unexpected and fascinating enough to, at least temporarily, distract her from the remainder of her fear. In fact, there was a part of Linette that would have liked nothing more than to forget all about this bizarre, terrifying, incredible day. A more powerful part, however, said slowly, “Yeah. I think. It’s… a lot. But…”

Of course, she felt sick and squeamish at the idea of having her memories tampered with, but that wasn’t even the crux of the issue. Linette tried to figure out how to explain. “It’s… well, the thing is, even if you wipe my memory, it still happened. You’re real, I guess, whether I remember you or not.” She grimaced and wondered if she was being extremely offensive. She was not putting this into words well. “I like to know things.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, abruptly and astonishingly, Crowley grinned. The grin was genuine, or so it seemed to Linette, though there was also something else behind it, stranger, that she couldn’t quite decipher. “Knowledge, knowledge. Well, duh. Who’d give back an apple?”

He was talking to himself again, Linette thought, so she stayed quiet. A moment later Crowley shook himself. “Okay, then. We’ll need to talk to Aziraphale. But I bet we work something out.”

Linette wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she felt a little more relaxed. After a minute she stood up and took a few steps away from the bucket, keeping a wary eye on Crowley, more to see what would happen than for any other reason. Nothing happened, except that her head spun and she realized she could barely keep her own eyes open, let alone stay upright.[41]

“Hey now, don’t pass out on the floor, he’d never let me hear the end of it. Sofa’s way more comfortable.” Crowley indicated the piece of furniture in question with a jerk of his head. “We have more to talk about, but there’s no rush. Take a nap. If you feel like it, that is.”

Linette did very much feel like it. She was going to argue nevertheless, on the basis that going to sleep in an unknown location in the presence of two supernatural strangers seemed like an excessively stupid and dangerous decision (even in the context of the chain of excessively stupid, dangerous decisions she’d been making all day). Then she thought back to the sight of her uncle slumped against the attic wall, and it occurred to Linette that, assuming she was in danger, being awake was unlikely to be much of a safeguard against these two supernatural strangers. Not that that was a particularly comforting thought, but it did mean she might as well take advantage of the chance to give her body and mind what they were so desperately asking for.

Also, for whatever reason, she didn’t feel quite so endangered anymore.

Crowley had already thrown his own head back, adopting a sleep-like pose in the armchair, though Linette was inclined to doubt that he was actually sleeping.[42] Glad that at least he had the courtesy not to _openly_ stare at her, in any case, she settled onto the couch, simultaneously self-conscious, curious, still a bit frightened, but most of all just tired.

It’s amazing how much the human brain can lay aside when it needs rest badly enough. Linette was asleep even before Aziraphale’s tea finished brewing.

~ ~ ~

Having tended to the boundary shock, reassured and re-assured himself that Crowley was by and large okay, and relocated the potted fern to a clear space on the floor, Aziraphale sipped tea while the demon again recounted what had happened. Though there were still certain gaps in the narrative where Crowley shrugged and said, “Dunno,” “Doesn’t matter,” or “Need to ask her that one,” the explanation this time through was both more thorough and less jumbled. It also included the conversation that had unfolded while the angel was waiting for the kettle to boil.[43]

As for the other party in said conversation, Linette was still comatose on the sofa. Aziraphale hadn’t the heart to disturb the poor girl, but luckily the armchair was spacious enough to fit two, if the two in question didn’t mind being nestled rather closely against each other. After the events of the day, Aziraphale got the sense that sharing the seat — warm, soft, comfortable (if cramped), but most of all _together_ — was almost as comforting for Crowley as it was for the angel himself.[44]

Tale told, they stayed in the armchair. Aziraphale drank more tea. Crowley even had a couple sips himself.

There were a few minutes of silence. Crowley broke them, eyes closed. “By the way. She stopped him from killing me. I think. Right before you showed up. He was going to pour that water on me, not the floor.”

Aziraphale shivered, and Crowley repeated, bracingly, “But she stopped him.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“I’d rather thank Linette. Aren’t you done with Goodness anyway?”

The angel snorted, then sobered. “Crowley…”

Crowley grunted. “All's well that ends well, as you told Billy. We’re good, angel.”

“... Aren’t you done with Goodness, dear?”

Crowley groaned and slid deeper into the armchair. Aziraphale allowed himself to do the same. At some point, Linette would wake up, and they’d have some things to figure out. Also at some point, Crowley would realize he’d left the Bentley at the park. At some point, little as Aziraphale liked to think about it, they’d have to get out of the armchair.

They’d work all that out. Later.

**Footnotes**

41 Even for witches, being in a prolonged shock of mental shock from sensory overload, contained panic, and impossible experiences can be very draining.[return to text]

42 He wasn’t, though he would unquestionably have preferred to have been.[return to text]

43 Aziraphale had originally intended to come back into the room while waiting, but on realizing that there was an important discussion taking place on the other side of the kitchenette wall, he’d decided not to interrupt.[return to text]

44 More so, in fact.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the curtain falls (at least for now), with apologies for loose ends. I do have some vague ideas regarding what happens next in Linette's adventures, which may or may not come to fruition in the form of a sequel someday.
> 
> Regardless, much appreciation to everyone who's read, left kudos, and/or commented — hearing your thoughts makes my day every time, and it means a lot to know someone other than me has enjoyed my mucking around. :)
> 
> If you're reading this, thanks so, so much for coming along and sticking it out with me, Linette, the houseplant, and our favorite ineffable duo. I hope you enjoyed the ride!


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